


just another collegestuck

by schlimmbesserung



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Collegestuck, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlimmbesserung/pseuds/schlimmbesserung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tavros and Gamzee are roommates in one of the shabbiest dorms at NYU.</p><p>A year full of fluffy and rocky friendships, hilarious and angsty romdrom, school stress, wild parties, awkwardness and misunderstandings, and various other adventures awaits them.</p><p>In short, young adult shenanigans ensue.</p><p>
  <b>on hiatus until further notice</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tHe, uH, pROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> boring introductory chapter begins NOWREADYGO

Move in day is always hectic. Well, at least, that’s what you’ve heard. You wouldn’t exactly know from experience, since you’re a freshman and all, and this is the first time you’ve ever actually had to go through something like this-- but you digress. The point is, you’ve heard move in day is always hectic, which is why you decided to come at the earliest possible hour to beat the rush.  
  
The sun is nothing more than a muted yellow glow peeking between the slate gray concrete and bright glass of skyscrapers. New York really doesn’t look that much different from home, you realize with a peculiar mix of relief and disappointment. Sure, the lay out is different, but it's a ll the same; big, bright buildings and dark dirty streets, packed full with vehicles and people all passing each other by in a blur. A few blocks from the university yields a number of men and women in incandescent safety orange jackets directing you to the proper parking space, saving your dad from the endless circling he was bound to have done otherwise.  
  
Since you’re there at such a godforsaken hour, you get to pull up practically right in front of the dorm, which appears to be a rather old building that stretches about ten stories up. The bricks are rust red and the windows look dusty and dark, dirty run off stains streaking down the side of the walls. There’s a line of move-in-day helpers in deep purple shirts leaning lazily against those gargantuan carts that they use to wheel everyone’s things into the building. When your dad slides in next to the curb and stops the car, the girl closest to you-- a pretty little thing, tanned copper with waves of chestnut hair rolling down past the small of her back-- straightens expectantly. She tosses a sunny smile at you through the untinted windows. You grin back weakly, stomach turning nervously, and try not to notice the way everyone’s eyes are drawn to the vehicle.  
  
When you step out of your dad’s old ’84 Ford 150, your first instinct is to stretch the stiffness of a three day car ride out of your muscles, but you’re feeling a little too uneasy under so many stares to indulge in such a casual gesture. Besides, it’s not like you  _actually_  haven’t been out of the car for three days. Although, the last stop was quite a few hours back, and honestly the motel beds you slept in on the way weren’t much more comfortable than a car seat. You attempted to talk your dad into just letting you fly to NYU (both for convenience’s sake and for fear of the old truck keeling over), but he drained you pretty quick with the whole sentimental ‘last father-son road trip’ talk. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t be home on the holidays, but try telling him that.  
  
The girl who smiled at you is now rolling her cart over, chittering out a greeting that is unsuitably bubbly for this early in the morning, in a smooth, bobbing dialect, “H _e_ llo there! You sure are here early! Welcome to NYU, I’m Feferi, and I gu _e_ ss I’ll be h _e_ lping you move in today! Where are you coming from?”  
  
“Sacramento,” your dad answers politely in his thick Spanish accent. He sets to relocating the several plastic bins of your belongings from the truck bed to the cart. He’s a pretty small man, so you move to help him (although you’re pretty small, too).  
  
Feferi’s grin broadens, “Oh, someone who’s almost as far west as me! That’s nice to h _e_ ar. What’s your name?”  
  
“Oh, uh, it’s Tavros,” you fumble, clumsily straightening up a dull blue container to make room for another. “Sorry I didn’t, say so sooner. It’s, nice to meet you.”  
  
“You, too! I b _e_ t you’re gonna love it here. Just for the r _e_ cord, we’re the best dorm on campus!” she says with exuberance, taking hold of the cart and pushing it with a strength you’re surprised her petite figure can produce. “We’re also one of the oldest dorms, but that’s part of the charm!”  
  
The building smells kind of musty on the inside and the lobby area is set up like one of those 1920’s mafia movies; all leather and mahogany and floral patterned wallpaper. The boy at the desk has a streak of NYU purple coloring his hair and is sitting with his face down, snoozing. Feferi makes a gesture for you and your dad to hold on, then strolls up and raps her knuckles loudly on the desk, effectively jolting the boy from his slumber.  
  
“Jeez, Fef. Why couldn’t you just shake me on the shoulder or somethin’?” he complains in a wavy, lilting voice, grasping blindly for his glasses. “Who even actually comes this early?”  
  
“You shouldn’t be sleeping on the job, Eridan! It’s bad work ethic,” she chides lightly, sliding his spectacles into the range of his floundering fingers and reaching over him to grab a clipboard from behind the desk. “Tavros... Nitram, right? Room t _e_ n-oh-two?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the room number, that was on my letter,” you answer, glancing at your dad who gives a small nod of confirmation.  
  
“Great! You just need to sign in, and then we can get your key and head up,” she passes you the roster and a pen, then leans against the front desk and prods at the other boy pointedly. With a hint of a grimace, the boy turns to rifle through the mess of keys lined and labeled on the small counter next to him.  
  
It takes a few seconds for you to find your name, and a few more to figure out what to sign where, but you manage it and hand the clipboard back to Feferi.  
  
“Yay!” she exclaims gleefully, forking over your room key in exchange for the sign in sheet. “Now we can go see your room. I have to go, too, to make sure everything is in place, but then you’re free to do as you-- oh-- awwww!”  
  
You turn sharply to find what had commandeered Feferi’s attention midsentence, drawing a soft gasp and a squeal of delight from her. A new cart has just been rolled into the building and in the doorway stands a short girl, sporting vibrant red classes and honey brown hair, accompanied by a dog with fur as white as snow.  
  
Feferi has long since darted over to affectionately rub at the canine’s face and coo, “You’re such a pretty puppy, yes you are! Who’s a pretty puppy?” She pauses momentarily, looking up at the girl apologetically, “She’s a cutie, but I’m afraid we don’t allow animals in the building.”  
  
At this statement, the other girl simply giggles lightly, “Well, I believe there’s an exception in my case. Pyralspite is my guide dog.”  
  
“Oh,” recognition dawns on Feferi’s face and she stands up quickly. “ _Oh_ , you must be Ter _e_ zi Pyrope! How could I have forgotten? Oops, sorry.”  
  
“No big deal,” Terezi waves her off. She glances around the room as if she could actually see, nostrils flaring slightly. With a toothy grin, she declares, “This place  _reeks_  of mold.”  
  
Feferi laughs out loud, “W _e_ ll, it’s nice to me _e_ t you Terezi, but I have some duties to att _e_ nd to, so I hope you have fun moving in and I’ll see you soon!”  
  
You breathe a small sigh of relief, because you were starting to fear you’d been forgotten and you were really hoping you wouldn’t have to speak up to remind Feferi of your existence.  
  
“Sorry to k _ee_ p you waiting,” she says, grabbing hold of your cart and pushing it to the elevator.  
  
“That’s okay, I don’t really mind,” you reply, squeezing into the small compartment. With the three of you and your things, there’s barely enough room left for Feferi to lift a hand and mash the tenth floor button. The mesh screen of the elevator door closes about halfway before clattering to a stop and, with a protesting whir and rattle, opening up again.  
  
Feferi glances at you and gives a mildly nervous chuckle, “Oh, this happens all the time. The thing’s only about a thousand y _e_ ars old. You just have to sort of--” she roughly slams the button again with the heel of her hand, and this time the door closes.  
  
The elevator pulls up slowly, clunking and whining and shuddering way more than you would have preferred, but neither Feferi nor your dad seem to be too concerned. You have a feeling you’re going to be spending the next two semesters walking up and down ten flights of stairs. You pull at the hem of your shirt and try not to think about what would happen if the pulley snapped and you went crashing down five floors... seven... nine.  
  
 _Ding._  
  
The hallways are narrow and the doors are labeled with thick brass numerals. The second zero in 1002 is loose so that it tilts, leaning against the first zero. It takes some forceful persuasion to get the key into the lock and turn it.  
  
Your first impression; the room... is small.  _Very_  small. Crammed with two dressers, two desks, a sink, and bunked beds, there’s hardly any open space left over at all. Hello, home for the next year. You and your dad start unloading your things while Feferi pokes around the room, opening drawers and inspecting the beds for sturdiness.  
  
“Well, everything seems to be in order!” she announces cheerfully, hands on her hips. “I gu _e_ ss I’ll leave you two to do your own thing. If you ne _e_ d anything or have any questions, just tell Eridan at the front desk. If you find any kind of damage, make sure to report it immediately!”  
  
“Uh, okay. Thanks, for the help,” you smile bashfully and she returns the gesture with warmth.  
  
“No problem!”  
  
Once she’s gone, you turn to your dad, shuffling uncomfortably. Oh boy, here it comes. “You should, probably start heading home soon, Dad. I can unpack on my own, and you have a, uh, long drive home.”  
  
Your dad’s weathered face wrinkles into a sad expression. Neither of you have ever been all that good with words.  
  
“I’ll, call a lot, okay?” you offer unsurely, but sincerely. This is all a part of growing up and everything, but you still feel a little guilty. “And I’ll be home on, thanksgiving and during, winter break.”  
  
He nods solemnly and opens his arm for a hug, which you give him. The top of his head levels with your chin.  
  
“Have fun and make friends, Tavros,” he says into your shirt. Everything about this seems a little clichéd and kind of surreal. You don't think it's actually sunk in yet that you're  _here_  in  _college_. You're not sure when or if it will sink in. “Don’t get discouraged too easily. I know you can do whatever you set out to do.”  
  
“Thanks, Dad,” you pull away. You appreciate him going along with this so well when you know he wanted you to go to school somewhere closer to home. He doesn’t understand why you have to move all the way across the country, but that’s okay really, because you don’t entirely understand either. YIt doesn't help your conscious that you're leaving him at home all alone, though, and you hope he’ll be okay. “Drive safe and, I, uh, love you, Dad.”  
  
He smiles softly and it reaches his eyes and, wow, you think you might actually start crying, how silly is that. “I love you too, son.”  
  
After a few more short, stumbling words of goodbye, your dad takes his leave and you’re alone. It's actually very unceremonious. You stand there for a bit, unsure of what to do next. You’re mildly horrified by the fact that the beds are bunked, because you don’t want to just randomly choose top or bottom and potentially upset your roommate.  
  
With a heavy sigh, you flop into the nearest chair and inwardly claim the desk as your own. Pulling a plastic container over, you pop open the lid and start unpacking the little trinkets. You’re halfway through extracting your fairy memorabilia when you suddenly experience a wave of self-consciousness and cram them all back into storage.  
  
Heaving another sigh, you dig out your laptop and turn it on. As you wait for it to power up, you struggle to remember your roommate’s name, wonder what kind of person he is, and pray he’s easy to get along with.  
  
This is going to be a long,  _long_  school year.


	2. tHESE PEOPLE ARE ALL, kIND OF STRANGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> casually slobbers all over the fandom

It is edging on noon now and you have officially reached the end of your tumblr dashboard updates.  
  
You click around forlornly on a few other open tabs, searching for something to hold your interest a bit longer, but to no avail. The day has been steadily dragging downhill since your arrival; your roommate still hasn’t shown, you still haven’t unpacked, and your stomach has begun to growl insistently. You should probably dig around for some food, considering the last time you ate was somewhere in Pennsylvania. You can’t remember exactly how far back it was, but it was in the city with the Hershey kiss streetlights. Man, that was so cool. Every city should have Hershey kiss streetlights because how awesome would that be?  
  
But, oh, right, you were going to look for something to munch on. You close your laptop and slide away from the desk, moving over to your storage bins, which are clearly labeled in bold marker: _CLOTHES & BED, SCHOOL SUPPLIES & FOOD, TOYS ETC_\-- now that you think about it, maybe you should throw a pillow case or something over that last one. It’s a little embarrassing.  
  
You paw through the small amount of food you brought, the bulk of it being instant noodles and Spaghetti O’s. There is also a box of cereal and some tortilla shells that your dad threw in. Not much of a selection, and unless you want to sustain yourself with a handful of dry Reese’s Puffs, you will have to venture back down to the lobby and use a microwave. You pluck a can, a plastic bowl, and spoon from the mix and proceed to mentally prepare yourself for inevitable social contact. You summon all the powers of Rufio, until you remember that Rufio is just imaginary and not actually any help at all.  
  
The amount of fail that is your life is evident in the fact that you haven’t even taken one step down the hallway before you hit your first obstacle; the door won’t lock. You put the key in and turn, but it keeps jamming halfway. You stare at it in confusion for a minute, helplessly pondering the next course of action. You don’t want to twist it too hard, because you could end up breaking something. You rattle the key futilely for several moments.  
  
“Pull on the doorknob first and then turn it.”  
  
You nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden voice, whipping around to find a tall guy leaning against the wall next to the elevator, slouching low with his hands shoved into his pockets. His hair is the whitest shade of blonde you have ever seen and dark sunglasses (why is he even wearing them inside?) prevent you from directly meeting his gaze. You wonder how long he has been watching your hopeless battle with the lock, and you feel that familiar, miserable heat of uneasiness crawling over your chest and blooming across your cheeks.  
  
“The doors here are shit,” he continues after a few seconds of you giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “The locks aren’t aligned or something, so you have to tug and twist like you’re giving the door an angry handjob. It’s downright degrading, if you ask me.”  
  
“Oh, uh, okay,” you successfully lock your door per his advice, promptly pretending the casual sexual innuendo didn’t make you twenty times more uncomfortable than you already were, and mumble a ‘thank you’.  
  
He stares at you-- at least, you _think_ he’s staring at you-- lips pursed into a thin line and, wow, the silence gets really awkward really fast, you should probably say something or walk away now, uh-- with a loud clunk and a cheerful _ding_ , the elevator reaches your floor.  
  
“You going down to the lobby?” the guy asks, stepping inside of the compartment, hand hovering over the L button.  
  
“Uh, yeah, but I’m just going to take the stairs,” you reply, quickly adding, “The elevator is kind of, sketchy.”  
  
“The stairs aren’t any better,” he says flatly, almost bored. “It looks like a scene from a low budget horror film. I wouldn’t be surprised if the steps snapped off under your feet and some grudge bitch came crawling down after you. Actually, you know what, fuck that. That’s not even scary. What’s supposed to be scary about a prepubescent girl who needs a haircut and walks like a person who’s mentally deficient?”  
  
You shuffle uneasily, because you are not sure why he’s still talking to you, and you are not sure you even completely understand what he’s saying at this point, “I, uh, think I’ll take my chances.”  
  
He gives a lazy shrug as the door starts to close, “Can’t say I didn’t warn you, bro.”  
  
With just a bit more trepidation than you previously had, you walk to the end of the hall where the entrance to the staircase is. One thing is for sure; the guy wasn’t exaggerating. The stairs are fire escape style steel, rusted with age, and the staircase is dimly lit. There is another flight leading up to what you can only assume is the roof, but there must be a broken light because it’s so dark up there you can’t even see. You half expect some treacherous creature to come slithering out of the blackness.  
  
 A death trap elevator, a silent hill staircase, and a room on the tenth floor. You submissively accept this as your fate. You perform a hurried lad scamper down the stairs without breaking a leg or getting devoured by unseen monsters. It is a Christmas miracle.  
  
The lobby is in near mayhem mode, bustling now that the residents are beginning to actually pour in. The desk guy (you think his name was Aaron or something) is looking a lot more murderous than he had been that morning, but it looks like Feferi is still having fun helping out the other kids. The guy you saw up on the tenth floor is talking to a girl with huge round glasses and long black hair.  
  
“Hey, Tavros!” Feferi calls out to you over the small chaos, and you are surprised she remembers your name. She takes in your awkward stance and the food stuff clutched close to your chest. “Are you looking for the kitchen? It’s right down that hall to the l _e_ ft, past the mailboxes, and if you hit the recr _e_ ation room, you’ve went too far.”  
  
You nod and give her a grateful smile before she goes back to guiding the more recent move-ins.  
  
You follow her directions and find the kitchen with ease, but you end up hesitating, clutching unsurely at the doorframe. Terezi, the blind girl, is sitting cross legged on top of the counter, her guide dog lying tamely on the floor below her.  The dull hum of the microwave and the vague smell of cheese and tomato sauce fills the air.  
  
She turns and looks right at you, scarlet glasses catching the light and a pearly grin splitting her face, “You don’t have to hide in the doorway. We don’t bite. Well, s _he_ doesn't. I make no promises for myself.”  
  
“Oh, I just wasn’t sure, the kitchen is kind of small, and I,” you manage to stop yourself while you are still ahead. “Uh, hi.”  
  
“Hey,” she cocks her head to the left and flares her nostrils. “You smell kind of familiar. Were you in the lobby when I got here?”  
  
You blink at her in disbelief and something that is worrisomely close to horror. She can’t _really_ recognize you just by the way you smell, right? That’s not a thing that is even possible... right? “Yeah, I was.”  
  
“I knew it!” she giggles triumphantly, a sound that’s shiny and sleek. “You smell just like tasty peanut butter, and also a little like spicy Mexican food, old car and cheap motel rooms, but I’m not even going to ask. So, what’s your name?”  
  
“It’s Tavros,” you reply, methodically setting your things down on the table in the center of the room. You are kind of put off by her accuracy, and you wonder vaguely if everyone in the residence hall is going to be this... unconventional.  
  
“I’m Terezi, and this lazy ball of fur is Pyralspite,” she hops down from the countertop, nudging the dog with her foot on her way to retrieve her food from the microwave. She raises her head and gives her a distinctly offended look. At least, it’s what you imagine a canine’s distinctly offended look would look like.  
  
“Is she an, American White Shepard?” you ask, kneeling down and extending your hand for him to sniff. He obliges you for a few seconds, but ducks out of reach when you attempt to pet him and lies his head back down with a tired sigh.  
  
“Yeah! I’m surprised you guessed. Not many people know the bre-- ow!” both you and Pyralspite give a small start as Terezi clips her hip against the edge of the table. You’re about to ask if she’s alright when she starts laughing brightly, “Oh wow, that’s embarrassing. Just pretend you didn’t see that. It might take me a couple of days to get used to the layout of the dorm. After that, I swear I won’t be tripping and falling over everything like I’ve been blind for half of a day instead of half of my life.”  
  
“Don’t you have a, uh,” you pause, rethink your question, and change course, “Well, I know a lot of breeds and stuff. I’m a pre-veterinary major, so it would be kind of bad if I, didn’t know them.”  
  
“Oh, a pre-professional, huh? We’re in it for the long haul!” she chuckles gleefully. She climbs gracelessly back onto the counter, fingernails scrabbling against linoleum, and reassumes her previous position. She pops a pizza roll into her mouth before continuing, “I’m pre-law. We have so many years of school left. It’ll be worth it, though, when I can introduce myself as: Terezi Pyrope, Ace Attorney At Law! The villains will tremble at the mere mention of my name. My catchphrase will be ‘justice is blind’ and it will be _so_ glorious, you don’t even know Tavros.”  
  
You laugh weakly, because you are kind of skeptical of whether or not she’s really joking. Not to mention, you are not entirely comfortable laughing at blind jokes, even if she’s the one making them. It seems unethical.  
  
Overall, you have an almost painless conversation with her, containing a rather minimal amount of stuttering and misunderstandings. Terezi is kind of excitable, and kind of quirky, but all in all she’s relatively easy to talk to. There’s this point where she insists on molesting your face so that she can “see” what you look like, then she comments about your “adorable little button nose” and claims she can "smell your tasty cocoa blush", whatever that's supposed to mean, but that’s about the worst of it. You learn, among other things, that she hails from Redwood City, California and she has the luxury of living alone in a larger ( _handicap_ ) room on the first floor, due to her ( _disabilities_ ) having a live-in guide dog. That topic of conversation eventually leads to the subject of your MIA roommate.  
  
“Maybe you’ll luck out and he just won’t show,” she says with a conspiratorial smile, absently tucking a honey brown lock behind her ear. “You’d be cheating your way into a single for the semester.”  
  
“Yeah, that would be pretty cool, I guess,” you stir your fork idly in the leftover spaghetti sauce. “It’s kind of, uh, nerve wracking, though, just waiting around.”  
  
“It’s a pretty big deal,” she agrees sympathetically. “I mean, you’re going to have to _live_ with the guy. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about sleeping in the same room as some potentially deranged weirdo for the next few months. Although, I might make an exception if the skin lampshades were tastfully decorated.”  
  
You nod despairingly and violently hope your roommate does not take to flesh decor, no matter how fancy it may be.  
  
She hums in thought, “But, you know, you’ve been down here for maybe a little over half an hour. You should go check and see if he came.” She jabs at Pyralspite, picking her leash up off of the floor. “I’m going to take Spitey for a walk and check out the campus.”  
  
“Uh, okay. You might be right. It was, nice talking to you.”  
  
“See you around, Tavros,” she flashes a clandestine grin, the effect of which is only mildly dampened when she just barely misses the doorway and walks straight into the wall.  
  
  
-  
  
  
You have a deep, _serious_ internal conflict over whether you should take the elevator back up or the stairs. It is exceedingly difficult to determine which is the lesser of two evils.  
  
“Flip a coin or something, shit.”  
  
As you try pitifully to play off your flinch, you really hope Sunglasses Guy isn’t going to make a habit of startling you like this.  
  
“You better decide quick, before someone else comes in with one of those monster carts and commandeers the elevator,” he says, all kinds of matter-of-fact. You are almost freaked out by his apparent insight into your personal debate, but he did just see you upstairs experiencing the same kind of indecision. “Personally, I prefer death by plummeting elevator over death by climbing too many fucking stairs. I’ve been down that path before and I’m not ever going back.”  
  
“That’s, uh,” you don’t really know what that is, so you just kind of let the sentence hang and count on him not pursuing its completion.  
  
“We’re gonna be floor mates or whatever,” he continues casually, indifferent to your input (or lack thereof). Now that you’re listening a bit harder, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, you notice how his voice softens over consonants in a warm, subdued accent that you can’t really place.  “I think this is a necessary bonding process we need to go through; banding together to overcome this shitty elevator. We’re like brothers in arms against these oppressive scare tactics, and all that poetic bullshit.”  
  
“I, uh, I guess,” you give in reluctantly, stepping into the elevator with him. He presses the button and the light flickers when the door closes, but it shuts on the first try. Silence ensues between you, broken only by the jump and rattle of decades old machinery.  
  
“You always this quiet, or are you just humbled in the presence of my awesome?” he asks eventually, tilting his head just enough to be able to look at you through his shades. Well, he’s not exactly a modest character, now is he?  
  
“No, I’m pretty much always, like this,” you answer, just a little irritated by the guy’s coolkid attitude. Still, you don’t want to offend him, so you add, “Uh, but that’s not to say that you aren’t awesome or anything, which you may or may not be, but I wouldn’t really know, considering I don’t really know you, at all.”  
  
The corner of his lips twitch minutely, almost like he wants to smile, “It won’t take you long to figure it out.”  
  
You are spared having to reply by the elevator arriving at the tenth floor. Sunglasses Guy’s room is apparently at the opposite end of the hallway from yours, because he walks off in that direction without even so much as a ‘see you later’.  
  
You experimentally twist the doorknob on your own room door and discover that it’s unlocked. That can only mean one thing; your roommate _is_ here. The time to freak out is not now. You take a minute to compose yourself, breathe in deep. You can do this.  What was that thing your therapist told you? Fake it until you make it, or something like that? God, you just hope he isn’t some deranged weirdo. Okay, enough stalling. You open the door.  
  
And there he is, standing next to the desk that was inadvertently christened as his and picking through a pile of CDs. His skin is a light, coppery brown, matching with a mess of unruly, dark chocolate curls. His pants are obviously a size ( _or three_ ) too big for him, hanging loosely off of his hips, and he is tall, _so_ tall. He looks over at you, brow, lip, and nose sporting gleaming studs of metal, his vaguely puzzled expression melting easily into a lopsided grin. His canine teeth are visibly larger than the rest and you are not sure why you notice. “There you are motherfucker. I was wonderin’ at where you all up and ran off to.”  
  
“I went down to the, uh, kitchen, to eat,” you explain meekly, caught off guard by the expletive, though it didn’t really seem to carry any weight. You are intimidated by his appearance, to say the least, and maybe dismayed, to say the most. “Sorry.”  
  
“Shit motherfucker, ain’t nothing what you gotta be apologizing at,” he replies, carelessly tossing the CDs onto his desk. “Hungry brother needs to get his grub on.”  
  
“Uh, right. Well, I’m Tavros,” you introduce yourself for what feels like the millionth time today. You feel like if you have to say your own name one more time, you might scream. Except you won’t, but you will be screaming so loud on the inside, that’s for sure. “I guess we’re roommates, but you actually probably, already knew that. Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t really remember what your name was.”  
  
“Gamzee Motherfuckin’ Makara,” he says fluidly. You can’t help but notice the intricate design of clowns and fire decorating his t-shirt.  
  
You nervously shove your belongings as close to the wall as you can get them, opening up some space in the middle of the room, though it still really isn’t much. You don’t see any of Gamzee’s things, aside from a line of Faygo 2-liters and those CDs on his desk. He must have already put everything away.  
  
“Sorry, I haven’t really unpacked. I wasn’t sure, that is, I didn’t want to, uh, randomly pick a dresser, in case you maybe, preferred one over the other. Even though they’re pretty much the same, uh, but.” Oh geez, you are just rambling now. It is happening. Gamzee doesn’t seem to notice, though, or he just doesn’t point it out, which you are grateful for.  
  
“It ain’t no motherfuckin’ deal, man. I don’t really care much about it any which way.” He pauses for moment, looking thoughtful. “But it’d be chill as hell if you didn’t mind me sleepin’ on the bottom bunk. These beds weren’t exactly built for a motherfucker all as tall as what I am. I wanna be as close to the floor as I can motherfuckin’ get case I up and fall off.”  
  
You smile in amusement and also somewhat in relief, “That, makes sense. I don’t mind.”  
  
“Hell motherfuckin’ yes,” he falls into the bed and splays himself out, like he’s just been waiting to do it. His legs hang off the end from the mid-calf down. “This is the start of one righteous miracle we got goin’ here.”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” you agree, for lack of actually knowing what to say. This guy is really it. You are going to be living with him for the next year and you haven’t worked out how you feel about it just yet. You twist your hands anxiously around each other to spend some energy as you boldly attempt conversation, “So, uh, where, are you from?”  
  
He lolls his head around to look at you, eyes all calm and sleepy, “I’m from right motherfuckin’ here. I been--” he jolts up abruptly, nearly hitting his head on the bottom of the bed above him. “Aw, shit, man.”  
  
“What is it?” you ask in alarm, involuntarily shrinking away.  
  
“I promised my motherfucking best friend I’d chill with him until his roommate showed up,” he explains, eyebrows pulled together and looking apologetic. “It totally all slipped my brain space. Shit, bro, I don’t much like bailing on a motherfucker. You can come get your hang on with us, if you want. He’s only at the fourth floor, if I’m rememberin’ right.”  
  
“No, that’s okay,” you answer quickly. “I understand, and it’s not like you’re, uh, obligated to hang out with me, or anything.”  
  
“I’d better go now,” he says, getting up and tugging at his pants, which had started to fall. “Tiny brother’s all full of angry like what you probably ain’t never seen before and I don’t wanna be no cause of his motherfuckin’ rage noise.”  
  
That sounds... charming. “I guess, I’ll see you later, then.”  
  
“Sure thing, bro,” he says with a raspy chuckle before walking out the door.  
  
Then he’s gone and you are left without much more information to go on than you had in the first place. But you have this feeling like everything will turn out okay. Probably. Hopefully.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what i'm doing someone stop meeeeeee OTL
> 
> i'm really bad at writing dave why do i even try  
> because he's my favorite beta kid that's why


End file.
